


Shards of Eventide

by Lady_Tisala



Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: AU, Alternate Universe - Shapeshifters, Cats, Hiding, Kid John, Kid Sherlock, M/M, On the Run, Shapeshifting, Spies, Vet Lestrade, agent mycroft, mystrade
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-30
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-19 03:24:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,985
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7342711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lady_Tisala/pseuds/Lady_Tisala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Shapeshifters (or just Shifters) are known, and registered by the animal family they Shift into (a cat shifter is registered as 'feline' - not the type of cat they sgift into). Greg Lestrade is busy at work in the summer when he comes across the young Shifter Sherlock, who's on the run from some really evil types. Taking the young panther under his wing, Greg will have to fight with tooth and claw and wit to keep them both safe and out of sight until they can reach the only other person Sherlock feels he can trust, his agent brother - who, of course, is out of the country on a mission. Greg's simple life just became a very dangerous one.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello!  
> This is my first fic posted on this site and I'll do my best to keep it updated! I love shapeshifters and weres so that's where this is  
> coming from. I hope you'll enjoy it. I'm not a native english speaker so my british is not great so forgive me that :)

He ran. He ran as fast as his small legs possibly could. His paws were sore and bleeding, his whole body ached and his tongue rolled out as he gasped for air. His usually shiny midnight coat was muddy and dusty, twigs everywhere in his matted fur. After a small internal debate, he hid in a large bush, fighting against his instinct to loudly gasp for each and every breath. He was scared, so scared. He’d never been this scared in his life. He’d never been this hurt in his short life either. He did not know where he was, just that he’d left London. He shivered in fright, and he felt cold, oh so cold, the day promised to be a hot one, a nice warm day in May, but the morning mist chilled him and dampened his fur, making him cold to the bone. The run had kept him warm but as soon as he stopped the chill seeped into his very being. It was tempting, oh so very tempting, to just lay his head down on his front paws and sleep for ages. But he couldn’t, that would be his death sentence for sure. He hated asking for help, hated being in someone’s debt, hated not being able to do things himself. But he was aware of some of his own shortcomings. He was not an adult, and he was alone and he did not know where he was and he had no way of contacting his brother. An intense stab of longing hit him in the gut when he thought of his brother. He sat beneath the bush, his furiously beating heart somewhat slowing down, while he pondered his options. There wasn’t much he could do, and he did not know many people and he did not know who he could trust. But he needed help, he really did. Help and protection. All those things his brother was for him, but his brother was not here. He needed a substitute… A thought occurred to him, and he took some time thinking it over. It was… risky. Very risky. But it was worth a try, and it was honestly the only thing he could think of doing, he was tired and hurt and alone. Slowly, he closed his pale blue eyes and let out a huffing sigh, and he opened the shields of his mind and sent out a Call for help, letting some of his hurt and need for help color the call, hoping against all hope that a large feline was somewhere in the vicinity. But what were the odds?

It was just past 5 AM, but Greg was already out mucking the stables, working up a light sweat that contrasted the slight morning chill. It was a Sunday, and he had volunteered to stay in the stables and work today, as most personnel were away training on another racetrack. They had a young chestnut stallion they had high hopes for, and they wanted him to get used to different surroundings, so the head trainer, his right hand man, and some other stable hands were away this weekend, with more horses than just the one stallion of course. Greg’s summer vacation had started, but he would work all summer to pay for his tuition fees. He hummed to himself as he worked, glad that he’d always been a morning person, and happy that his job wasn’t too far from London. And this job was good, very good for him in fact. He was on his way to become a vet, and any animal–related work was good in his resume. And of course, he needed the money to pay for his tuition fees and for his living, even though he for the moment lived close to the stables very cheaply, for which he was most grateful. He was… content with his life right now. His studies were going well and he had a job he was good at and did not hate. He could use some more friends, he supposed, but really, he never had much time to spend with his mates anyway. A pint after school sometimes, but then back and work, since he actually had to pay for his living himself. A soft huff interrupted his line of thought and he laughed softly at the bay gelding that eyed him curiously. Greg stopped a short while to scratch his friend behind his ears, the young thoroughbred happily nipping at his fingers. The quiet of the morning was something Greg loved dearly. The eerie silence, the mist that covered every meadow as far as he could see, the birds that now and then sang a lovely tune. And for the day, he was alone at work, only the horses that were left and him. The content chewing, the rustle of hay, and the occasional neigh, Greg was feeling very happy. He had mucked the boxes that needed to be tended and was sweeping the stable way when he stopped for a moment and rested his hand on the broom and then his head on his hands, just letting the feeling of contentment sweep through him. Letting his mind wander, and just feeling the moment, something tugged at him suddenly, not strongly but it was there. Something, something… Greg straightened his back and looked around, but no one had arrived in the last few minutes. All he heard was the horses. He closed his eyes and mentally followed the signal, and then he felt the pain, the anger, the confusion, but most of all, he felt the fear. With a snap, his eyes flew open and with long strides, he left the stable, purpose in his steps.

Greg knew the grounds surrounding the stables very well, he often walked them, alone or with a horse in tow, and his memory was very good. So he knew just where he had felt the Call, it was about a kilometer from where he had been working. He consciously made his steps heavier, letting out a hum now and then under his breath. He slowed down and stopped in front of an inconspicuous bush, and he carefully crouched down, hazel eyes peering inside the bush, meeting a pair of tired pale blue eyes, monitoring his every move.  
  
“Hey there kid,” Greg softly said, slowly reaching out with his right hand, making no hasty moves. “I got your Call. Come over here and let me help you.”  
  
A soft whine, a wet and small nudge at his hand, and Greg carefully reached inside the bush and lifted the black panther cub up. He was wounded, and obviously exhausted, his breath coming in short gasps, tongue lolling out. His fur was bloodied, dirty and matted from sweat, and it made Greg’s heart ache. He removed his jacket and wrapped the cub in it, the little thing was shivering from the cold of the morning, and Greg still had a t-shirt on.  
  
“I’ve got you,” he murmured, and let _Caring_ flow through to the cub via the hesitant Link they had formed when Greg had answered the Call for help. He felt the cub relax, and he held him in his arms, massaging one black ear between his thumb and forefinger as he began the walk back to the stables.  
  


The mist still swirled around the stables, and the horses were still happily eating their hay when Greg came back with the panther cub in a steady hold. He entered the largest of the stables (the main building, the other two stables were smaller and did not have any other rooms other than the boxes for the horses), and his steps echoed through the empty stable way as he walked to the little but cozy dining room for the stable boys, trainers, and the occasional horse owner. On his way he grabbed a few clean towels and slung them over his shoulder, very happy that no one else but him was there so there were no curious questions, questions he could not answer… yet. He switched on the lamp in the dining room, and as always it took forever to light up the area, but Greg did not care as he sank down on the worn but comfy red sofa in the left corner of the room. He gently unfurled his jacket, and the little mass of black fur opened its eyes and stared. And kept on staring. It made Greg’s stomach lurch, and gave him a queasy feeling. Someone had obviously hurt the kid and he was still weary, still on guard, the tiny body that had relaxed on the way back was now tense and the panther was ready to sprint away at any given moment. Greg pretended not to notice, and he gently put one of the softer towels over the shivering cub.  
  
“Stay there, kid. Need some hot water to wash that messy fur of yours.”  
  
He rose, and went to the sink next to the small table with the microwave just across the room. He opened the small fridge, looking for anything that could be useful but found nothing. Huffing in annoyance, he almost slammed the fridge shut, but remembered the scared thing on the couch and just shut it firmly. He took a glass bowl from the small pantry next to the fridge. He turned on the water, waiting for it to at least get lukewarm, and kept on scanning around for useful things. He spotted a tube next to the microwave, almost completely hidden behind yesterday’s newspaper. Greg took it and turned it in his hand and a slight smile graced his face. It was a salve for wounds, mostly used on horses but it worked on other animals too. The panther had not looked too hurt, mostly exhausted and frightened. Greg just wanted something to treat its paws with, he knew how much wounded paws could hurt and it would affect the cubs walking, running and climbing. He filled the bowl with water and walked back to the cub, who kept its eyes fixated on him the whole time. It would probably be an intimidating glare with time, Greg mused, but as a tiny cub it just looked sort of funny on the panther. He softly sat down on the old sofa again, and with a careful hand he removed the towel that he had covered the cub with. He took another towel and dropped it in the bowl, soaking it through before he wrung it so it was still wet but not dripping. Greg hummed lowly under his breath, he knew both animals and kids sometimes found his humming relaxing. The panther cub still had his sharp gaze on him, but let Greg gently clean him, paw by paw, and Greg took another towel and it went through the same procedure in the glass bowl. He used that second towel to clean the black fur on the cubs back and head. The panther somewhat grumbled very very quietly when Greg carefully scrubbed his head clean from dirt and sweat, and it made Greg want to smile, but he knew better than to laugh at the kid who huffed at being cleaned just like any other kid would – in his limited experience most kids went through a phase when they hated showers, baths and cleaning all together. He applied salve to the cubs small, sore paws; gently massaging the pads with skilled fingers. As he massaged the cubs’ ribs with one of the towels (yellow, and the softest he could find) he heard a car engine in the distance and briefly wondered if something had happened at the race track, since no one should be back already; in fact, no one should be back before midday. But as that thought passed through his mind, the tiny panther tensed up and if Greg hadn’t stopped him, he would have leapt away (and probably hid under the sofa since the door to the room was closed).  
  
“Hey hey kid, take it easy,” Greg said as he held on to the tiny feline, who hissed at him, clearly agitated but what hit him more, was the fear that he felt radiating from the panther.  
“Hey little Bagheera,” to which the cub made a sound that Greg translated as an almost laugh, “I promise that if someone in that car is looking for you, I won’t tell them that you are here, alright?” Here Greg made an internal exception for a really worried parent. The cub stopped his struggle and just looked at Greg, eyes wide and slightly hopeful. Greg caressed one of the panthers’ black ears.  
  
“You’re sort of my responsibility now, you know,” his voice warm and affectionate, and the cub stilled and finally relaxed a bit, which made Greg sure that he had chosen the right words.  
  
With a final pat on the damp head, he rose from the sofa, mouthing ‘I’ll be back’ to the cub and walked towards the door. Before leaving he looked back at the cub one last time and smiled reassuringly.

The car Greg had heard had indeed stopped just outside of the largest stable, the driver hadn’t even bothered to stop in one of the five available parking spots – and this irked Greg for unknown reasons. The car was a large black BMW, he had no idea what model or year since his interest in cars was abysmal. A platinum blonde woman with long legs slid out of the passenger side, dressed all in black just like the car. She wore black heels, Greg noted, and a black pencil skirt. She had a white blouse and a black jacket over it. Overall a rather professional look, but the look on her face was one of worry. Or was supposed to be a look of worry, he thought. She obviously hadn’t mastered that specific look yet, or maybe Greg was just paranoid. He probably was just paranoid, he decided. But he was still sure that she was faking it, whatever ‘it’ was. He got no further in his musings, as she saw him where he stood patiently waiting by the largest door, the double doors they used when they brought in the horses from outside. He had the previously discarded broom in his hand, he had grabbed it almost unconsciously on his way out and was glad that he had done so, so it seemed like he had been busy tidying the place up.  
  
“Hello, how can I help you ma’am? I’m afraid Mr. Harley isn’t in at the moment.”  
  
He kept his voice even, friendly and slightly curious, as he held her eyes and fired off a small but cordial smile.  
  
“I don’t know who Harley is, and I’m not looking for him,” the blonde said in a small voice, her eyes darting around, she chewed her bottom lip in a gesture that seemed rehearsed, meant to be endearing and worried, and many men probably found it attractive. Greg blinked, slowly. Harley was the owner and trainer of these stables. Most people did not just get lost here, they found this place because they wanted to find him. He blinked again, slowly and owlishly on purpose, making sure to seem as confused as possible, and he tilted his head slightly to the right to complete the look.  
  
“Eh, you’re not?” He asked and shifted his weight from one foot to the other, looking like a confused stable hand who had no idea what to do next.  
  
“I’m actually looking for my brother,” she continued, one hand making its way to a pocket on her jacket and she fished up a photograph, “have you seen him somewhere here?”  
Greg took the photo, it was maybe not an old photo, but it was well-used, wrinkled and worn. The photo was of a boy, maybe somewhere between seven and ten, with dark curly hair and icy blue eyes and a pout on his face. There was a hand on his head, ruffling his curls, and the boy held onto a pale blue shirt with his right hand, the other person was not in the picture – but had originally been, had the picture not been cropped.  
  
“Not seen any kids around here,” Greg answered, his voice slightly surprised and he gave back the photograph after having quick look at it.  
  
“Are you sure?” She insisted.  
  
“Yeah, how would a kid get out here? If he’d been in this area maybe he’d take a bus somewhere. There’s a stop.. uh.. I dunno, a few miles that way.” He vaguely gestured to the northeast.  
  
The woman looked him over, and Greg plastered a helpful smile on his face, and the hand that had gestured went to rest at the base of his neck, he scratched there and looked at the woman, making sure to look sorry that he couldn’t help her. He probably fooled her, her blue eyes had glanced over him, measuring him, making sure he told her the truth. Which of course, he didn’t, but Greg could be a very good liar if he felt the need for it. The woman sighed, quite theatrically, and dug into her other pocket, took out a card and gave it to Greg.  
  
“If you see him… call me please? I’ll make it worth your while,” she purred charmingly, somewhat seductively, a promise in those heavily lidded eyes and in the slight smirk playing on shiny ruby red lips. Greg suddenly wondered if she was a so called ‘honey pot,’ and he was rather glad that he was gay and not moved in the least by her moves. Also, he thought, if she truly had been looking for her brother, would she really start flirting with a random guy?  
  
“Absolutely, ma’am,” he answered honestly and gave her a look of wonder, as if he couldn’t believe his luck. She winked at him as she turned around and walked back to the car. Greg kept his eyes on the car, and caught a look at the driver when she opened the door, but just a quick glance. Darkly dressed male, dark sunglasses, and then she slammed the door and the car started and with a screech it took off. _That looked what I’d imagine the Secret Service to look like_ , Greg thought as his hazel eyes followed the car and the small smoky cloud it left in its wake. _What have I gotten myself into and what have they done to scare you so, kiddo?_


	2. Chapter 2

When the car was out of sight and he could not hear its engine anymore, Greg turned around and strode back into the stable, making sure to lock the doors behind him. He carelessly discarded the broom, making a soft thump as it hit the concrete floor, but Greg did not care about that at the moment as he walked past the boxes towards the dining room where he had left the panther cub. He unlocked the door, peered inside, and when he didn’t see the cub at once, he went inside and closed the door behind him. There was a suspicious looking lump on the worn sofa, a lump of towels with a tiny tail sticking out. It made Greg chuckle.  
  
“Just me, teeny panther. Just me.”  
  
Slowly the lump began moving, and the dark face became visible from underneath the pile of towels. Small whiskers vibrating anxiously and pale, narrowed blue eyes measuring Greg again. Greg just smiled and went to the sofa and slowly sat down next to the cub, where he had sat before.  
  
“Could you maybe Shift back? It’d be easier to talk then.”  
  
The panther moved slightly to sit in a regal position, and then shimmered and became blurry for about two seconds, and in place of the panther a young boy appeared, the same boy in the photograph that Greg had been shown. The boy’s hair was slightly longer than in the picture, and he was dirty with ruffled clothes, a plain purple t-shirt and jeans, and dirty sneakers on his feet. He did not look at Greg, instead he inspected his red and injured hands that already had begun to heal – the healing power of a Shifter, many times stronger than that of an average human. The boy then looked at Greg, the same eyes that he had as a panther, watching Greg from under dark lashes.  
  
“What’s your name?” The boy asked, his voice strong but small at the same time, making an effort to be as indifferent as possible, but the fluttering of his eyelashes and the unconscious twitching in his hands told Greg another story entirely.  
  
“Gregory Lestrade at your service. But call me Greg, everyone else does.”  
  
With a smile, he offered the boy his hand and the kid looked surprised at first, but then he cautiously took Greg’s hand with his small, pale hand and shook it firmly.  
  
“Sherlock Holmes,” he said with a tentative, almost invisible smile tugging on his lips. Scared, but trying to be brave. Hoping he could feel safe with this stranger. A caregiver by nature, Greg felt his heart clench painfully in his chest. He moved his hand to the kid’s curly head and loosely ruffled those dark curls, almost the same colors as Greg’s own hair, just a tad bit darker.  
  
“Need a Guardian, kiddo?” He asked, voice warm and unassuming.  
  
“I… yes.” Sherlock answered silently. He looked into Greg’s eyes, his face unguarded and young. “My… my mother couldn’t have helped me, she was a cheetah and I’m a leopard, I’m going to be much bigger than… than she was, and I know that a Guardian is supposed to be larger than the one he or she mentors, and a feline mentors a feline and canine for canine and, and…”  
  
His voice became smaller and smaller and then it just stopped, his mouth was a thin line but those large eyes were misty and unfocused.  
  
“Father’s not a Shifter?” Greg carefully asked. Two Shifters would always have a Shifter child, but if only one parent was a Shifter, it was 50/50.  
  
“No, no he wasn’t,” Sherlock said. “My… my half-brother isn’t a Shifter either,” he confessed and turned a bit on the sofa, moving around to get comfortable. Greg felt saddened by the confession. Clearly both his parents were no more, and maybe he didn’t have many Shifters in his life, a tough thing for any young Shifter, being without the guidance an older Shifter could provide. Greg sent a fond thought to his own Guardian, an older gentleman who shifted into a large Siberian tiger, who had been a good mentor and friend to Greg in his teen years, and still was his strongest support in life; even though Greg had outgrown the need for a constant Guardian, the bond they had formed was for life.  
  
“So, teeny melanistic leopard cub named Sherlock, as a fellow feline I offer my Guardianship as your elder, to create a Bond that will last throughout our mortal lifetime, to guard and to protect, to help and to support, to be your shield and shelter until that day when you fully have grown into yourself, as a man and as a cat alike, and are able to take on a Guardianship of your own, passing on the knowledge to the next generation as our forefathers did before us, and our children will do after we return to dust.”  
Greg said the vow with a serious and solemn voice, he had never thought about the day he would have a protégé of his own, but he vividly remembered the day his Guardian had offered his protection, remembered as if it had been yesterday when in fact it had been more than fifteen years. Greg had placed his right hand on Sherlock’s cheek as he spoke the words, and the child watched him, those intelligent eyes shining with something akin to wonder. He slowly, oh so slowly, placed his tiny hand on Greg’s larger, tanned hand.  
  
“Gregory Lestrade, I graciously and gratefully accept you as my Guardian, from you I will learn what you will teach, and I shall endeavor not to bring shame upon your name.”  
Sherlock’s eyes flashed in a neon blue color, just for a split second, and Greg knew his own eyes had flashed in an amber color, signaling the Bond they now would share for the rest of their lives.  
  
  
Sherlock lay curled on the sofa, head in Greg’s lap, and he let his Guardian weave his fingers soothingly through his dark curls. Feline Shifters were naturally very tactile with people they were comfortable with, and being close to each other and carefully touching cemented the Bond they had just created. It might evolve to a partially telepathic link; every Bond was different - but the Bond made sure that they could feel each other when they wished to. Greg would be able to sense his charge, sense his mood and feelings, if he was in danger, and how far away he was. Being a Guardian meant he was it in every sense of the word. Greg still had his Bond with his own mentor, and occasionally either of them tugged at it, just as a greeting, instead of making a phone call, even though that happened now and then too.  
  
“You wanna tell me why those people where after you, cub?” He asked gently while still playing with the younger male’s hair. In response, Sherlock shivered a bit and curled deeper into himself.  
  
“Not me,” he mumbled quietly, “they want something with My and wanted to use me to get whatever they want from him.”  
  
“My?” Greg asked, slightly confused.  
  
“Mycroft,” Sherlock voice was still a mumble, “my brother. He’s an agent, and someone must have gone rogue to go after him.” Sherlock shifted a bit. “My brother is very very smart,” he continued, “and he knows lots of things. And he’s only got me so I’m the obvious bait.”  
  
“How old’s your brother?”  
  
“Twenty-seven. I’m nine. We have the same father, but my mother was much younger than him.”  
  
Greg just nodded and hummed as a response.  
  
“My loves me,” Sherlock continued with a certainty that made Greg smile, “and he would do almost anything for me and some people in the Service knows that. I think…” Here Sherlock grew quiet for a little while. “I think someone there is a traitor,” his voice oh so soft and scared, “and My doesn’t know because he’s not even in England right now and he doesn’t know that they bought my nanny and that I had to run and he doesn’t know, he doesn’t know…”  
  
Greg dragged him up into his lap and held him while his scrawny body was wrecked with dry sobbing, and he clutched Greg’s t-shirt, shaking and shivering. Greg stroked his back reassuringly, his mind jumping all over the place. It explained so much about what was going on, and with their newly formed Bond he could sense Sherlock’s sincerity. The kid was not lying. He was scared and afraid, and something told Greg that Sherlock wasn’t used to this state of being. He was probably a bit spoiled, with a brother that much older who seemed to love him with a fierce intensity Greg had rarely seen in siblings with such an age gap. He rose from the sofa, Sherlock still firmly held in his arms, and he went across the room to the small door that almost everyone overlooked. He carefully opened it and closed it behind him once he went inside. Climbing the stairs, still with his charge in his arms, he went upstairs to the small apartment above the stable where he lived for the moment – he actually rented a small house a tiny bit away from the stables but he had had some problems with the roof so meanwhile he lived here for the same price which worked fine for him, as long as he did not get wet while sleeping he was content. He carefully laid down the half-sleeping child on his small bed, and sat himself in the old, worn chair next to the window that faced the largest meadow. Without even thinking about it, he picked up the pen that rested on the window ledge and started to twirl it between his thumb and index finger. He had no experience with this kind of thing… He did not know what the best thing to do would be. He pondered asking his Guardian, Frederick, but decided against it. His mentor was getting old and Greg did not want to put him in any kind of danger. And he lived in Scotland anyway, guarding a reserve for feline shifters where they met and let their cubs play and chase to their heart’s content. He did not want to endanger anyone else if he could help it. Greg had no contacts of the kind that would be needed to locate Sherlock’s brother Mycroft (funny name that, the father must have named both of them, odd names). He had no idea what kind of power the ones after Sherlock wielded, and he didn’t really want to know either. But the kid was under his protection now, and Greg had both a strong moral code and a fierce protectiveness, he would not abandon him. That thought was ludicrous in itself and Greg snorted at himself, pen still steadily twirling between his fingers. He glanced over at Sherlock, who had stilled and burrowed himself deep under a green blanket. The rhythmic moving told Greg that he was fast asleep – and no wonder, if he had run as far as Greg thought he might have had. Looking out of the window once again, Greg’s eyes followed a small tawny rabbit, probably born early this spring, as it jumped and stopped, and kept on jumping. Closing his eyes, Greg focused on the feeling of his new Bond, Sherlock was feeling cautiously hopeful, even in his sleep. That pure, unguarded feeling... Greg wanted to protect it, he did not want to give the cub any reason to doubt him, when Sherlock had placed his trust in him because he had to, because he had no one else.  
  
When Sherlock woke up just about an hour later, Greg was still staring out of the window, but he turned his head around and smiled when he felt that the young Shifter had awoken. Sherlock blinked the sleep out of his eyes, but could not help the tiny yawn that escaped him. Greg hummed and kept his eyes firmly on Sherlock as he asked:  
  
“How do you feel about France?”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Going forward!  
> Luckily I have the weekend off so I'm getting time to just  
> relax and write a bit. Hope you like it :)


	3. Chapter 3

Given that he was half French, Greg had been in France many times throughout his childhood and adolescence, especially a lot in later years since his father had moved back there after the death of his English wife, Greg’s mother. His mother had been a sparrow hawk Shifter, and his father was a wolverine – yes, they had produced a feline offspring, what kind of animal a Shifter became was a study in itself, but most people just said it came down to randomness. Greg’s only sibling, his older sister, was a golden jackal. Personally, Greg found it hilarious not to know what your future offspring might Shift into until they did at around five years of age. His parents had shared his view, and their steady support and introduction to his Guardian had made Greg Lestrade a Shifter comfortable in both his skins, and he wanted others to feel like he did, and had already decided to do whatever he could for the young panther that had been thrown into his path and care.  
  
“Heey Charlie, it’s Greg,” the young man said into his phone after having dialed a number he knew by heart, “listen, a family emergency just came up so I have to leave for France asap. I’ve done the morning routine but if someone could come and take over in a while – the horses will be fine for a few hours more, Colossus will of course be a bit upset as per usual but it can’t be helped, he’s at least fed and if he gets to wait just a little longer than normal to get out on the track he should survive. Oh, really? That’s great! Yeah, I’ll hurry back of course. Ta, mate.”  
  
Putting the phone back into his back pocket, Greg looked at Sherlock, who sat still on the bed, the green blanket securely wrapped around his skinny frame. His right hand fiddled with something around his neck that Greg hadn’t noticed yet, and he sat down next to Sherlock, who looked up with a forlorn look on his pale face. Making a small gesture with his hand, Greg wordlessly asked, and Sherlock hesitantly pulled forth the necklace he had around his neck. It was a stone on a leather band, and Greg stared at the stone with fascination visible on his face.  
  
“It’s a pietersite… also known as a Tempest Stone.” Greg carefully touched the gemstone with his fingers, absorbed by the bright orange, blue and golden colors, tinted with just a hint of crimson red.  
  
“It looks like a shard of eventide,” awe in his voice, and at that Sherlock’s mournful face lit up in an instant flash, a brilliant smile.  
  
“That’s what Mycroft calls it too.”  
  
  
Greg nicked some clothes that hopefully would fit Sherlock from the washing room, promising himself that he would pay Lucas for stealing the clothes his son had worn when he had visited and fallen down in a pile of manure, but they were clean now and Sherlock needed clean clothes. He grabbed a few of his own recently washed clothes too and went back into his room, Sherlock having moved from the bed to standing by the window.  
  
“Here, Sherlock, try these on. We’ll get you some new clothes later but these will have to do in the meantime.” Sherlock nodded mutely and grabbed the black t-shirt and the faded jeans that Greg threw on the bed. “I’ll pack a bag myself, going to get some things.”  
  
Hastily Greg threw down the clothes in his training bag, a charger for his cellphone, he found some cash he had lying around but that he just put in his wallet. He took down his leather jacket from where it had been hanging next to the door, and put it on, making sure the wallet was firmly secured in the inner pocket. He went to the small corner that made up his kitchen and filled a few bottles of water that he also put down in the training bag. Thinking, he went out of the room, down the stairs and back into the dining room. Ransacking the pantry, he grabbed a few granola bars and a few biscuit packages, putting it all in a plastic bag. Grabbing another plastic bag, Greg went and found some of his own supplies – mostly a few salves and bandages that might be needed but hopefully not. He also went into the saddle room and grabbed a thick, burgundy red blanket that Sherlock could cuddle with on the road. Satisfied with his findings, Greg locked the saddle room and went through the dining room once again and then back up the stairs into his room. Sherlock had changed clothes, and Greg thanked a lucky star that they somewhat fit him. They could do nothing about his shoes though, but one thing at a time.  
  
“Come, let’s go. I’ve got no idea what we’re facing and I guess you don’t either. France does feel like a safer choice at the moment. I doubt the people that were here earlier are going to monitor me, so going to my dad’s should be safe. Then we can figure out how to get into contact with your brother, that sounds good?” Greg asked kindly, and Sherlock nodded in response.  
  
“I’ve got a number for emergencies, but it just goes to an office and not to him in person… We, we could use it I guess, but I’d rather be further away before we do…” Sherlock said, and Greg nodded his approval.  
  
“Yeah, hopefully they don’t have enough resources to catch us in France. And I doubt they monitor the shuttle.”  
  
“That’s where we’re going?”  
  
“Yep, the Eurotunnel Shuttle. Goes from Folkestone to Calais. Do you mind going as a leopard? We’ll hide you in the sidecar of my motorbike. Just an extra measure in case they are watching. And you’ve got no papers with you if they’d want to see any. Not to mention it’ll be cheaper.” Greg winked and it had the desired effect, the kid giggled quietly.  
  
  
Greg’s bike wasn’t new but it was in excellent shape, a well-cared for black Ural, with a sidecar and everything. In Greg’s experience, many brows were lifted and questions asked to _why_ he had a sidecar. His simple answer usually was because he liked it best like that. And he had a great use for it, truth to be told. When he went to school, or if he took it to France, his training bag fit there nicely and Greg hated backpacks, hated the extra weight and heat on his back – so a sidecar was awesome. He was dressed in his leather jacket and jeans, carefully arranging his bag in the sidecar, and making a little nest with the horse blanket, so that Sherlock wouldn’t freeze in there. Granted, it was May, and Sherlock had fur – he wasn’t as jet black as Greg first had thought, the body was sort of very dark brown, beautiful black rosette markings showing in daylight – Greg still didn’t want the cub to be cold, and better safe than sorry, as his mother always had been fond of saying. The cub in question was sitting next to him, watching him go about with interest. Sherlock had shifted back into his smaller form as they had entered the small garage, and when Greg felt the nest was good enough, he simply lifted the panther up and sat him down in the sidecar, in the nest made of the large blanket. Greg fussed a bit, making sure the blanket covered Sherlock – all but his head that peeked through and when the cub mildly snorted, Greg laughed and held up his hand in an ‘okay, you win’ gesture. Then he took a deep, steadying breath and led the bike out of the garage, which he then locked carefully. The sun was shining in the sky now, promising a beautiful day ahead, a nice day to spend on a bike – it would take about two hours or so to Folkestone and he sincerely hoped that there would be room on the shuttle today. In his experience though, the shuttle was busiest in the middle of the summer so he thought there would be no problems getting on. Sneaking the panther onboard might be trickier but Greg had gone with the shuttle many times and they had never really checked his sidecar. He hoped his luck was still intact and that they wouldn’t check today either. He rolled his head from right to left, shuffled his shoulders a bit and then put on his black helmet and pulled down the visor (he hated bugs in his face) before starting the bike. Greg gave Sherlock a pat on the head, to which the panther nipped at his fingers, Greg laughed and then they were off.  
  
  
After about an hour of driving, Greg made the decision to stop for gas. There was at least an hour left to Folkestone if the traffic kept on being as nice as it had been so far, and he did not want to refuel the first thing he did as they landed in Calais. There was an unmanned station nearby, just a small place where one could buy gas with their card and an old, small building with a few toilets – not very clean and not very fresh, but it was something for the population that could not just stand by a bush and have their business done. Turning to the left, Greg slowed down as he neared the station. A single grey car was parked in the vicinity, but he saw no driver or passenger, they might be visiting the toilets. Or the bushes behind the small building. Shrugging, he parked and removed the helmet, moving his hand through his dark hair, fluffing it up after the hour in the helmet.  
  
“If you need to go, Sherlock, feel free to do it – but be careful alright?”  
  
The tiny leopard huffed as an answer before taking a graceful leap out of the sidecar and trotting towards the building and sneaking behind it. Greg shook his head and focused on refueling the bike, humming softly under his breath as he did so. But he was barely done when he felt Sherlock intensely tug at their Bond, fear and anger floating through it, and Greg ran after where he had seen Sherlock last. Another feeling came across the Bond; it was hard to describe but it was like a pleading hush, so Greg slowed down, making sure to actually sneak forward. Behind the small building were some thick bushes and a few trees, but Greg barely noticed it as he dove behind a tree, staring in mild disbelief at the black car that was parked a few meters ahead; it was the same car that had been to the stable that very morning, of this Greg was totally sure. And his fear was confirmed just about two seconds later, when the blonde from this morning appeared from the side, the thug-like driver with her and a smaller, strawberry blonde woman between them. She looked scared and she struggled just a bit but the thug had her in a fast grip, hauling her along, brusquely making her get into the backseat of the black BMW.  
  
“Her kid?” Greg heard the thug say, his accent vaguely eastern European or similar.  
  
“He was not in the car, and no sign of him being with her now. He’s probably at school or at his grandmother’s. We’ll go get him now, maybe then she’ll cooperate.” The blonde woman fired off a sinister smile before climbing into the car. Greg did nothing, even though his inner knight yelled at him to go rescue the lady, he couldn’t, because he had Sherlock to think of. With a flying start, the BMW drove away, leaving dark tire tracks in its wake, and a giant smoke cloud. Greg put his hand over his mouth and nose to prevent himself from coughing. They had left but best to be safe, in case one of them had supernatural hearing (one never knew). Greg waited about twenty seconds before gently calling out:  
  
“Sherlock?”  
  
A soft whine just to his right was the answer to his soft inquiry, on ground level, probably from the large bush that just barely touched his legs. What was it with Sherlock and bushes? Greg hunched down and peered inside, having the strangest feeling of déjà vu, since this was the second time this very day that he looked inside a bush for a cub. Only this time, he actually found two.  
  
“Uh, hello there?” He hesitantly asked and a grieving wail was heard and a second later Greg had an armful of an inconsolable olive-grey cub that burrowed its head in his chest, curling up to him while letting out wails that literally tore Greg’s heart to shreds. Greg held onto the cub with steady hands, and Sherlock dug himself out of the bush, sat himself next to Greg, his tail darting back and forth and Greg could feel his distress through their Bond.  
  
“There, there little one. Shh,” he gently hummed at the new cub, who shook in his grasp, shook with what would have been sobs in a human form. Sherlock pointedly looked at the tire tracks the BMW had left and it clicked in Greg’s head.  
  
“Your mum?” He softly asked, and the cub unburied himself and looked up at Greg, eyes blue and clear as the sky. He let out a quiet whine and Greg let his hand stroke the small body, gently humming to help the cub relax. At the same time, thought where running wild in his head. Just after a minute or two, the cub freed himself and jumped down from Greg’s lap, shimmering as he Shifted back into his human form. The cub turned into a solid dirty blonde boy, somewhere in Sherlock’s age, blue eyes rimmed with red from unshed tears. He was casually dressed in black jeans and a grey t-shirt. Sherlock decided to also Shift back into his human form, his sharp eyes focused on the other boy. Greg felt Sherlock’s fascination trough their Bond and he thought, that maybe Sherlock did not have many friends or met many kids his own age. Especially not other Shifters.  
  
“They wanted to take you to pressure your mother to do something for them, and you and your mother were running away when she saw their car following you and she made you get out of it with your bag because she knew she would not be able to get away and she hoped you would be able to.” Sherlock furrowed his brow. “Your father is not in the picture, but I can’t figure out why…” the blonde kid looked at Sherlock, slight wonder on his face.  
  
“That was brilliant,” he breathed. “How’d you figure it out?”  
  
At the unexpected compliment, Sherlock blushed beet red and looked confused for a bit, not expecting the other kid to react like he did.  
  
“That’s not what people usually say,” he murmured.  
  
“What do they usually say?”  
  
“Piss off.”  
  
“What’s your name, kid?” Greg interrupted their conversation with a smile. The blonde looked away from Sherlock and offered his hand.  
  
“John. John Watson,” Greg took his hand and shook it firmly.  
  
“I’m Greg Lestrade, and the twig over there is Sherlock Holmes. It’s nice to meet you, John, although we could have hoped for better circumstances. Where were you and your mum going?”  
  
John had stretched into the bush and pulled forth a backpack, obviously his own, a dark blue thing, probably loaded with clothing. John fiddled a little with one of the straps.  
  
“I don’t know,” he confessed silently. “Mum didn’t tell me. Just that there was something weird going on with some people at work and that she felt safest going off the grid a while until one of the guys she works with came back to England.” At his admission, Sherlock visibly reacted.  
  
“My brother! She must work with my brother! Those people hunted me this morning and wanted to hold me hostage to make my brother do something, just as thy wanted you to make your mother obey them. What does your mother do?”  
“She works with computers,” John answered, mulling over what Sherlock had said.  
  
“It does make sense,” Greg interrupted again, “and that puts you in danger, John. How about it, want to join us to France? We’re quite reliable, I assure you. And if… If you need a Guardian, I can help you. I’m Sherlock’s Guardian as of this morning, but nothing stopping me from taking you in too, eh?”   
  
The dazzling smile John bestowed upon Greg made his own smile bigger and brighter, and Sherlock grinning at them both made Greg feel secure in his choice. He could do this. He could take these two cubs under his wing (figuratively) and protect them. Greg wasn’t a large, intimidating tiger, but very, very few dared to mess with him once he had Shifted, and he vowed to himself to return these cubs to their brother and mother, respectively.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Introducing John!
> 
> I haven't mentioned what kind of cat he is, nor what kind of cat Greg is.  
> Anyone wanna hazard a guess? :)
> 
> Comments and kudos are love <3


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